The hand on his shoulder is grounding, but he still has to cover his face to shut out the world for a few moments. It's all just too much, the memories pouring in all at once and nearly impossible to make sense of. Too many images overlapping each other in his mind, and he doesn't know which ones need to be sorted through first. Even Sans's question seems to be lost on him.
And then.
"Angus! Angus! D-Detective McDonald!"
A voice comes from behind Angus and despite it using the title Niely most often uses, that voice definitely isn't Niely's — nor is it coming from a person at all. The wall that Angus and Sans have been inspecting is changing. The pigmented silvery paint that makes up one of the illustrations of the dragons has begun to move, dragging itself through the wall like a cartoon, pressing its paws against Angus and Sans's side of the wall like glass.
"Angus, I know this is really hard right now, and really scary but — but you're not here alone. I need you to remember. Your memory, Angus — your memory is the key to all this! And — and — and I'm here, I'm watching, I'm with you. Whatever you remember, whatever you see — don't give up! And don't forget—
There's strength in asking for help!"
The dragon seems to scratch almost desperately at Angus, but all of a sudden the illustration lays still, leaving only the idea of a baby dragon with its arms outstretched, pleading.
Angus just . . . stares at it. Eyes wide as saucers, hands fallen to his sides. Eventually, tentatively, he presses his hand to the dragon in the mural.
"This — this isn't a metaphor. This is real. This—" He turns back to the mural of Lucretia's face. Reaches out to it, then draws the palm of his hand across the stone to the mural of the woman wrapped in thorn. "Happened. Somebody put a curse on her. On — no, not her, on her staff. And it spread to her. The Hunger—"
A long, shuddering sigh. His shoulders shake under Sans's hand.
"I told her that we could help her if she let us, you and me and everyone, but she just — she just gave up. That's when it started happening. It took her over, sir. Right in front of me. And I couldn't stop it."
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The hand on his shoulder is grounding, but he still has to cover his face to shut out the world for a few moments. It's all just too much, the memories pouring in all at once and nearly impossible to make sense of. Too many images overlapping each other in his mind, and he doesn't know which ones need to be sorted through first. Even Sans's question seems to be lost on him.
And then.
"Angus! Angus! D-Detective McDonald!"
A voice comes from behind Angus and despite it using the title Niely most often uses, that voice definitely isn't Niely's — nor is it coming from a person at all. The wall that Angus and Sans have been inspecting is changing. The pigmented silvery paint that makes up one of the illustrations of the dragons has begun to move, dragging itself through the wall like a cartoon, pressing its paws against Angus and Sans's side of the wall like glass.
"Angus, I know this is really hard right now, and really scary but — but you're not here alone. I need you to remember. Your memory, Angus — your memory is the key to all this! And — and — and I'm here, I'm watching, I'm with you. Whatever you remember, whatever you see — don't give up! And don't forget—
There's strength in asking for help!"
The dragon seems to scratch almost desperately at Angus, but all of a sudden the illustration lays still, leaving only the idea of a baby dragon with its arms outstretched, pleading.
Angus just . . . stares at it. Eyes wide as saucers, hands fallen to his sides. Eventually, tentatively, he presses his hand to the dragon in the mural.
"This — this isn't a metaphor. This is real. This—" He turns back to the mural of Lucretia's face. Reaches out to it, then draws the palm of his hand across the stone to the mural of the woman wrapped in thorn. "Happened. Somebody put a curse on her. On — no, not her, on her staff. And it spread to her. The Hunger—"
A long, shuddering sigh. His shoulders shake under Sans's hand.
"I told her that we could help her if she let us, you and me and everyone, but she just — she just gave up. That's when it started happening. It took her over, sir. Right in front of me. And I couldn't stop it."